


(Un)resolved

by pohjanneito



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: 80s flashbacks, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Daniel and Amanda are amicably divorced, M/M, handyman!Johnny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29533209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pohjanneito/pseuds/pohjanneito
Summary: “You the one with a leaking pipe?” There’s no tell-tale slur in the handyman’s voice, but he looks like he’s just rolled out of bed, blond hair sticking up in unwashed curls. Even his faded Guns N’ Roses tour shirt is wrinkled like it’s been slept in.“Well, it’s closer to a flood in there, but yeah, I’m the one who called you.” Daniel waves his hand in an invitation, but the guy freezes halfway across the driveway, staring at Daniel through his black Ray-Bans.“Holy shit…”Daniel frowns and taps his fingers against his thigh impatiently. “Is there a problem?”The guy starts moving again, the tool belt that hangs from his hips jingling against his thighs as he walks to the door.“I don’t know, LaRusso, you tell me?”Or: Daniel has trouble with a blocked kitchen sink and has a handyman from Reseda come and fix it.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Comments: 36
Kudos: 197





	(Un)resolved

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternate take on Daniel and Johnny's first meeting and how things ended between them back in the 80s. Handyman Johnny has lived in my head rent free since the first episode of Cobra Kai, and I wanted to explore the idea of Daniel needing his help with something ;) I also love Amanda LaRusso too much to have Daniel cheat on her, so she and Daniel are amicably divorced.
> 
> Thank you for the beta, Alec! Comments are very welcome :)

“Dad? Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Samantha aims her phone at the overflowing kitchen sink and snaps a picture of the _situation_.

“Yeah, I got this, honey.” Daniel sticks his head deeper into the sink cabinet and tries to fit the wrench around the pipe that continues to leak murky water onto his knuckles. The false confidence in his voice wavers a little as he tries―and fails―to move the locknut. “I’ll have this fixed by the time you get home from school, you'll see.”

Samantha sees right through his super dad act and Daniel doesn’t have to turn his head to picture the skeptical arch of her right eyebrow.

“Maybe you should call someone?” Samantha says, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she shares the picture with her friends. “You know, someone who actually knows a thing or two about plumbing. Maybe Steve could come and help you out?”

Daniel’s molars drag against each other in a strained grimace as he puts the muscles in his arms to work. There’s no way he’s asking Amanda’s new husband to fix his leaky pipe. He likes Steve, but the fact that the guy can build an entire guest house from scratch is a little annoying. “Really, Samantha.” _Twist,_ “I got―” _and turn,_ “this!”

The locknut refuses to budge.

Daniel can hear the eyeroll in Sam’s long-suffering sigh. “Okay, Dad.” She comes over and sticks her hand into the cabinet to give Daniel’s shoulder an encouraging pat. “I’ll leave the number of a handyman on the fridge door, just in case you _don’t_ got it. My friend Miguel says the guy lives in his building.”

“Okay, honey,” Daniel nods, stretching his mouth into his patented salesman grin to mask his annoyance. “I’ll see you after school.”

The moment Samantha is out of the front door, Daniel spits out a litany of the filthiest swear words the older kids back in Newark had taught him for a pack of baseball cards and a half-eaten box of _Runts_.

He’s supposed to be good with his hands! If he knows how to fix a car, a blocked kitchen sink shouldn’t be such a tough nut to crack. Out of ideas, he fits the wrench around every protruding part in the pipe, but none of them give even an inch.

“What the hell is wrong with this thing?!”

He bangs the wrench against the pipe, _whack whack whack_ , and falls on his ass when the sluggish drip of water bursts into a powerful jet of brown, foul-smelling sludge.

“Aw, Jesus Christ!”

The whole cabinet seems to be leaking. No, not leaking, _surging_ , all over the antique terracotta tiles. The disaster gets even worse when the tap above his head starts running into the already overflowing sink.

Daniel scrambles to his feet and fiddles with the handle, but the thing keeps running at full pressure, the water in the sink spilling out―all over his Gucci loafers.

“Shit!”

He stumbles out of the kitchen and rummages through the cleaning closet for a bucket or something, anything to keep his house from turning into an indoor pool.

And okay. Maybe Samantha was right. Maybe he don’t got it after all.

Daniel shoves a bucket under the leaking pipe and picks up his phone, swiping at the screen with his pruney fingers. He snatches the yellow post-it note Sam has left on the fridge door and paces around the dining table as he taps the number into his phone.

“Come on, pick up, pick up.”

It takes fifteen rings before someone finally answers his call, if the gruff _whaddaya want?_ the guy barks into the phone counts as an answer.

“H-hello? I, uh, got a situation in my kitchen,” Daniel stammers, taken aback by the unprofessional greeting. “You know, the kind where my kitchen sink is trying to drown me.”

There’s silence on the other end, followed by what sounds like a pained groan and a deep burp. Jesus, who the hell is this guy?

“Hello? I really need someone to come and fix this before there’s permanent water damage.” Daniel eyes the rapidly filling bucket and uses his free hand to mop at the puddle of water that’s still spreading over the tiles. “I can call someone else if you’re unavailable. Seriously, I need―”

“Okay, okay, I heard you the first time.” There’s a metallic pop, followed by a foaming hiss and some gulping noises. “Where do you live?”

“Encino Hills, Escalon Drive. It’s the house with Tuscan architecture.”

“ _The Hills?_ Oh that’s just great.”

The guy sounds like he’s in physical pain and Daniel wonders what’s wrong with his address. “So? Are you able to come or not?” He’s starting to lose his patience, three seconds away from ending the call.

There’s another stretch of silence, almost like the guy on the other end is weighing the pros and cons of taking the job. Daniel hears another gulp of liquid that’s followed by a satisfied grunt and the sound of crushed aluminum.

“Yeah, I’ll fix your pipe.”

Daniel’s shoulders sag with relief. “Thank you!” He replaces the soaked towel with a fresh one and pushes it across the tiles with his foot. “But seriously, man, you gotta hurry. I’m running out of towels here―”

The line goes dead and Daniel stares at his phone with baffled eyes. How does a guy like that even get any customers?

He finally realizes that he’s soaked from head to toe, the starched fabric of his dress shirt almost see-through.

“Can't believe I lost to a sink…”

Daniel shakes his head, the corner of his mouth lifting with a self-deprecating smile. If Mr. Miyagi were alive, he’d probably turn this whole episode into a lesson about humility and knowing when to admit defeat and ask for help.

The water is clearing up, but the pipe will keep leaking no matter what, and Daniel runs upstairs for a quick shower and a change of clothes. He’s toweling his hair when the sound of screeching tires and a song that’s almost nothing but power chords drifts in through the bathroom window.

He drops the towel from his hands and pulls on the first available outfit from the athleisure side of his neatly arranged closet. He almost stumbles in his hurry to descend the stairs, but the handyman is still climbing out of his car when Daniel opens the front door.

And what a car it is. A ‘91 Firebird with a peeling paint job and dusty hubcaps. It’s been a while since Daniel has seen such an old model. He narrows his eyes as he watches the car’s owner lean his palm against the roof to keep himself from stumbling.

Is he drunk or something? It’s not even 10 am.

Daniel is starting to have second thoughts as the guy heads towards the house, feet dragging against the driveway like he’s walking through wet cement.

“You the one with a leaking pipe?” There’s no tell-tale slur in the handyman’s voice, but he looks like he’s just rolled out of bed, blond hair sticking up in unwashed curls. Even his faded Guns N’ Roses tour shirt is wrinkled like it’s been slept in.

“Well, it’s closer to a flood in there, but yeah, I’m the one who called you.” Daniel waves his hand in an invitation, but the guy freezes halfway across the driveway, staring at Daniel through his black Ray-Bans.

“Holy shit…”

Daniel frowns and taps his fingers against his thigh impatiently. “Is there a problem?”

The guy starts moving again, the tool belt that hangs from his hips jingling against his thighs as he walks to the door.

“I don’t know, LaRusso, you tell me?”

The guy pushes his Ray-Bans down the long slope of his nose and it feels like Daniel’s stomach is trying to relocate to a whole new part of his body, because the eyes that stare at him from his doorway are just as piercing as they were over thirty years ago.

“ _Johnny Lawrence?_ ”

“The one and only. Shit. It’s been―”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“―a while, LaRusso.”

Daniel looks up, his eyes startled and black like two beetle shells. He curls his fingers against his palms, the muscles in his cheeks twitching with tension.

Johnny holds his hands up in a show of surrender, slowing his steps. “Relax, LaRusso, I’m not here to fight.”

The fear in Daniel’s eyes fades when he sees that Johnny is alone, no Cobras at his back, not for a while now. “Guess there’s a first time for everything,” he huffs, the tension in his shoulders lifting. He turns his eyes back to the rolling waves and says nothing as Johnny drops down on the sand, not too close, but close enough to make it clear that he’s not here for the view.

The beach is packed with their old classmates, freshly graduated with the world as their oyster, or whatever bullshit they say. The air smells of bonfires and half-burnt cotton candy, and it’s difficult to make out any single song from the cacophony of all the boomboxes and car radios in the vicinity.

Johnny glances at Daniel through his feathered bangs and wonders how to proceed. He has no plan, doesn’t even know what he wants to say, but he’s pretty sure that the lump of guilt that’s been making him queasy since the All Valley won’t go away until he and LaRusso clear the air.

It’s only been six months, but Johnny feels like he’s been through a lifetime’s worth of earth-shattering changes since Daniel LaRusso robbed him of his title and kicked him in the face in front of the people who used to be the center of his universe.

Daniel drags his fingers through the sand, his right foot swinging left and right, left and right. Johnny feels his ridiculous Bambi eyes on him, senses the uncomfortable tension between them. He clears his throat to break the silence, but Daniel beats him to it.

“So I guess you heard what happened with Ali and me, huh?”

Johnny did hear about Ali, how she and Daniel called it quits after prom over some meathead from UCLA.

“You come here to gloat or something?”

Johnny doesn’t intend to gloat, but it’s impossible to stamp down the small burst of glee in the pit of his stomach. He and Ali might be history, but the knowledge that LaRusso didn’t get her either makes it a little easier to swallow.

“That’s not why I’m here.”

“Yeah? Well, what is it that you want, Johnny?” Daniel snaps, the angry tilt of his chin reminding Johnny that Daniel LaRusso is a feisty little asshole with the temper of a man twice his size. “I know you can’t stand my guts, so don’t tell me you’re here for the company.”

Johnny senses the rising hostility in the air, and his own temper flares up out of sheer habit, but he digs his heels into the sand and sucks in a calming breath of salty air.

“You’re right, we’re not exactly friends.”

Daniel lets out a snort, shaking his head like Johnny is a moron for stating the obvious.

“But ever since the tournament, I’ve been, I mean, I―” Johnny struggles to gather his thoughts, but the words he wants to say get lodged somewhere between his tongue and Adam’s apple. He’s never apologized to any of his opponents, no matter how brutally he’d beaten them in and outside of a sparring ring. But the things he did to Daniel throughout the school year, kicking him when he was already down, over and over again, there was no honor in any of it.

He turns his eyes to Daniel’s skinny legs, to his bare knee where the olive skin is marred with a thin line that disappears under the ragged hem of his denim shorts. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s lifting his hand and settling it over the scar.

Daniel flinches at Johnny’s unexpected touch, his eyebrows pulling into a confused pinch. “Come on, Johnny, what is this?” He asks through a nervous huff of laughter. "You tryin’ to prank me or something?”

Johnny shakes his head and when he speaks, his voice sounds distant in his ears, like it’s coming from an old radio. “No, I’m just… I’m trying to apologize, okay?”

Daniel’s mouth falls open and his throat makes an audible click as he struggles to swallow. “You’re _what?_ ”

Johnny’s cheeks flare with heat and he pulls his hand away from Daniel’s knee, unable to meet his eyes. “You heard me, LaRus―Daniel. I wanna apologize. For what I did to you in the tournament and, you know, on Halloween and… And for everything that came before that. It was bullshit, all of it.”

Daniel is still gaping at him, like Johnny is speaking in a foreign language or something. He shakes his head and runs his sandy fingers through the dark cloud of fluff that is his hair. “Jesus fucking Christ.” He blinks at Johnny with huge, disbelieving eyes, but there’s a hint of genuine joy in his laughter. “I don't believe my ears.”

“What, because I know how to apologize?” Johnny asks, the freckled bridge of his nose scrunching with annoyance. If LaRusso doesn’t want his apology, he’s not going to force it down his throat.

“You called me Daniel.”

Johnny frowns, feeling like he's missed some crucial exchange in their conversation. Daniel grins at him, that goofy smile that puts his crooked teeth on full display and makes him look like a gopher.

“Yeah, I did. So what?”

“Wasn’t sure you even knew my name,” Daniel shrugs, smirking at Johnny like the simple use of his name is the best thing he’s heard all day.

“What? Of course I know your name,” Johnny scoffs. “It was pretty hard to miss when you kicked me in the face and the crowd around us cheered you from every direction.”

_Daniel! You're the best!_

There’s no heat in Johnny’s voice, but Daniel looks a little sheepish, sucking his plush bottom lip between his teeth. “Yeah, um, about that kick―”

“Hey, it was a pretty badass move, man,” Johnny interrupts, and the admission doesn’t sting as much as it did for the first few months after his loss.

They fall silent again, but it’s not uncomfortable or confused like before. Daniel glances at Johnny from the corner of his eye, the tentative truce between them a little awkward and ill-fitting.

“You still into it? Karate, I mean.”

Johnny shakes his head, a hint of melancholy sneaking into his voice. “Nah, me and the guys, we all quit after Kreese―” His hand flies to his throat and he rubs at the phantom ache in the tendons.

One look at Daniel tells him that they’re both thinking of the aftermath of the tournament.

Johnny taps his fingers against the front of his jacket, the red leather still full of tiny holes where he’d ripped off the snake patch. “I’m done with Cobra Kai.”

Daniel nods and says nothing, but Johnny catches a flash of relief in his eyes.

The party on the beach grows louder as the sun sinks into the horizon, but Johnny isn’t in the mood to join the revelries. He shoots Daniel a sidelong glance and kneads his knuckles in a nervous tic. “You got any plans for tonight?” They both turn their heads to the nearest bonfire when someone almost stumbles into the flames. “This party is getting pretty wild. You don’t wanna join in?”

Daniel shakes his head. “Nah, man, this isn’t really my scene. Guess I’ll just head home and see if there’s something good on TV.”

Johnny taps his knuckles and tries to sound casually indifferent as he motions at his car that’s parked on the small cliff at the edge of the beach. “I have a six pack of beer in my car. We could split it?”

Daniel’s cheeks dimple with a wide grin. He gets up on his feet and dusts the sand off the bottom of his shorts, holding his hand out to Johnny. “Sure, man.”

They walk across the beach in amicable silence and the heavy pit of guilt that Johnny’s carried in his stomach for months morphs into something warm and unexplored.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Daniel feels like his brain is leaking out of his ears as he stares into the blue, blue eyes of Johnny Lawrence. It’s so surreal that he wonders if he slipped in the shower and hit his head, because how the hell is his old karate nemesis at his doorstep after thirty plus years?

“You okay there, LaRusso? You look like you're having a stroke,” Johnny observes, sounding more amused than worried.

Daniel clears his throat, blinks, and clears his throat again. “Uh. I’m okay,” he nods, his eyes still glued to Johnny’s face. And it’s uncanny how much he still looks like the Johnny in his memories, tall and broad-shouldered and very, very blond. And maybe… a little hungover?

Johnny pushes his shades up to his forehead and Daniel notices the bags under his bloodshot eyes. He looks―well, weathered is the word that comes to mind, and Daniel finds himself wondering what the hell has life done to Johnny Lawrence.

Johnny holds up his rusty toolbox and throws Daniel a questioning look.

“Oh! Right! The flood in my kitchen,” Daniel cries out, his eyes growing wide with alarm. “It’s getting biblical.”

Johnny snorts and steps inside. “I guess I’d better take a look at it then.”

Daniel leads him into the kitchen and jumps over the puddle that’s conquered half of the floor. “You can fix it, right?” He asks, shooting Johnny a pleading look.

“Holy fuck, LaRusso! What the hell did you do to that pipe?” Johnny gapes at the mess Daniel has made in the kitchen, shaking his head in wide-eyed disbelief.

“I tried to fix it,” Daniel spits out, more indignant than embarrassed. “For your information, I think I came pretty close to succeeding.”

Daniel knows that last bit is a big, fat lie, and judging by the scoff and the bloodshot eye roll aimed at him, so does Johnny.

“You’re so full of shit, LaRusso.”

Johnny digs through his toolbox and doesn’t waste any time as he shoves his head into the cabinet and gets to work.

Daniel paces around the dining table, his cheeks burning with sheer humiliation and something he can’t even name, because Johnny’s sudden reappearance in his life has left him reeling. He didn’t even know the guy was still around, only a twenty minute drive away, apparently. And he can’t believe that he’s still so― _so Johnny Lawrence_.

It’s unfair, and it makes Daniel feel flustered and self-conscious in a way that he hasn’t felt since his college days. He brushes his fingers through his damp hair, unruly in a way that he doesn’t normally allow it to be. Even his outfit makes him look like a lame soccer dad.

Johnny grunts and mutters inside the cabinet, the muscles in his arms bulging as he uses his tools to fix Daniel’s mess.

“Word of advice, LaRusso, don't quit your day job.”

Daniel huffs and looks away when he realizes that his eyes have been caught on Johnny’s biceps for way too long. It’s weird that he’s even noticing them, not to mention inappropriate, but damn if the asshole isn’t still in great shape.

The tap stops running and the puddle on the floor stops growing as Johnny finishes his work on the burst pipe.

Daniel arches his brows and breathes out a sigh of relief. “Disaster averted?”

“Disaster averted,” Johnny nods, pulling his head out of the cabinet. His soaked t-shirt clings to his pecs and his jeans look like someone’s spilled a drink on them. “I don’t know what you did to that pipe, LaRusso, but that thing was fucking _maimed_.”

Daniel crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his chin up. “I told you, I tried to fix it.”

Johnny shakes his head and blows out an amused wheeze of laughter through his nose. He sets his shades on the counter and grabs the hem of his shirt, dabbing his face with it. “Whatever you say, man.”

Daniel’s gaze darts around the kitchen as he hurries to look away from the stretch of bare skin that Johnny so casually puts on display.

And it really is unfair. Because even the slight swell of what Daniel assumes can only be the result of too many beers and a bad diet doesn’t temper the sudden lick of heat at the back of his neck, old but still so familiar.

Johnny lets go of his shirt and catches Daniel staring. The smile that curls on his lips is still as infuriating as Daniel remembers, and he feels pinned down by it as Johnny slips his thumbs under the leather of his tool belt and stalks towards Daniel like some apex predator.

“So. Is there anything else I can fix for you, _Daniel_?”

Daniel’s stomach jumps at the use of his name. No more LaRusso but _Daniel_ , just like in Johnny’s convertible in ‘85, sun-warmed leather squeaking under their combined weight as Bruce Springsteen rocked on the radio.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“You aware that you drive like a maniac?” Daniel snorts as Johnny parks the car between two palm trees and grabs the pack of beer from the backseat.

Johnny flashes him a smile that’s as cocky as it is wide. “I bet you liked it, LaRusso.”

He tears two cans from the plastic rings and hands one to Daniel. The atmosphere is a little awkward again as they pop their taps at the same time and lift the cans to their lips.

The parking lot is empty and the party on the beach is almost half a mile a way. It’s a little too quiet and Johnny fiddles with the dial on the radio as he empties half of his beer in one go.

Daniel takes it slower, throwing Johnny furtive little glances, his smile soft but uncertain. The ocean breeze plays with his hair, and it’s so unruly that Johnny wonders if it’s even seen a comb today. His fingers itch with a sudden urge to touch it and he digs them into the muscle of his thigh to stop himself from reaching out.

“So, any plans for the future?” Daniel asks when the silence between them becomes too awkward to ignore.

Johnny takes another sip of beer and shrugs his shoulders. “My mom and Sid are sending me to college. Don’t really feel like going, but what else am I gonna do? At least there’ll be lots of keggers and hot babes.”

“Yeah…” Daniel nods, sliding down in his seat. “My ma wants me to go to college, but I kinda wish I could stay here for a little longer, maybe do something with my sensei.” He turns to look at Johnny, his eyes suddenly wide with excitement. “You ever seen a bonsai?”

“A what?” Johnny snorts.

“They’re these little trees that take a lot of effort to grow, you know, it’s an art form, really, and Mr. Miyagi is a master of the art. He’s been teaching me all about them, and I ain’t as good as Mr. Miyagi, not by a long shot, but I’d like to be, one day.”

Johnny stares at Daniel as he goes on about his little trees, taking note of the way his entire body seems to come alive. It reminds him of the passion he used to feel when he stepped into his old dojo, the heady rush of adrenaline as he took down his opponents with ruthless precision.

“Anyway,” Daniel says, his lips pulling into a wistful smile. “They’re really pretty.”

Johnny continues to stare at Daniel, caught in his stupidly brown eyes as the warm sensation in his gut keeps growing, spreading towards his groin like molasses.

_Pretty like you,_ he thinks, and feels his cheeks prickle with heat.

“Johnny?”

“Huh?”

“I got something on my face?” Daniel chuckles, a little self-conscious. He wipes his knuckles against his mouth in search of a nonexistent stain, and fuck, now Johnny’s gaze is caught on his stupidly plush lips.

His ears are full of white noise as he leans in, spilling beer into the gap between the seats when his mouth connects with Daniel’s.

Johnny has no idea if Daniel is responding to his kiss, frozen to the spot by what he’s just done. He blows out a startled, beer-stale breath against Daniel’s lips and starts to back away, but Daniel follows him across the gap between their seats, the firm pressure of his lips staying on Johnny’s mouth.

“Daniel?” Johnny whispers, and okay, he’s definitely getting a response, because Daniel licks into his mouth the moment he parts his lips, the angle awkward as they try to balance their beer cans in their hands.

“I don’t know what we’re doing here, but I think I like it,” Daniel pants, the tip of his nose squashed against Johnny’s cheek.

The words send Johnny’s brain straight into makeout mode. He grabs Daniel’s beer and tosses both cans over the windshield. They land somewhere in the dark parking lot with a wet splat and a foaming hiss as Johnny helps Daniel into his lap.

He’s made out with a ton of chicks, before and after Ali (not during, because he’s not a cheating asshole), but Daniel is no chick, no matter how pretty he looks right now, perched in Johnny’s lap, looking as stunned as Johnny feels.

He settles his hands on Daniel’s hips and slips his thumbs under the hem of his shirt as he seals their lips together. There’s a brief struggle for control as they both try to set the pace of the kiss, but Johnny has never let anyone take the reins from him and he manages to subdue Daniel with a gentle nip to his bottom lip.

And Johnny’s a pretty good kisser, at least that’s what Tammy Johnson told him, and so did Ali, though that was before he forgot her birthday. He can tell Daniel isn’t new to making out, but he doesn't quite know what to do with his hands. He settles them on Johnny’s shoulders, drops them to his pecs and sinks them into his hair, scratching his blunt nails against Johnny’s scalp.

“Is this crazy?” Daniel pants into the kiss, but it doesn’t sound like he really cares about the answer.

Johnny considers the question and comes to the conclusion that yeah, it’s pretty fucking crazy that he’s making out with his former karate rival. With a history like theirs, it’s a miracle they’re able to even breathe the same air.

Daniel rocks against Johnny’s crotch and the song on the radio fades out under the sudden fireworks that go off inside Johnny’s head. He thrusts up and drops his hands to Daniel’s belt, about to pull it out of its buckle, but they never get to the next base, because the silence in the parking lot is shattered by screeching tires and loud laughter as another car pulls right next to Johnny’s Avanti.

They jerk apart and the heel of Johnny’s hand connects with Daniel’s mouth as he hurries to push him off his lap.

“Hey, Johnny, that you?” Someone who sounds a lot like Dutch calls from the other car.

Johnny’s so startled by the sudden appearance of his friends that he smacks his palm against the crown of Daniel’s head and shoves him down to the footwell with a little too much force. Daniel snarls and glares at him with big, angry eyes, and Johnny is vaguely aware that he’s got a bloody lip.

He waves his hand and greets his friends with a stiff smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“The hell are you doing here, man? The party’s down on the beach,” Bobby calls from the backseat.

“You with a babe?” Tommy snickers, trying to peer into Johnny’s car.

Johnny digs his nails into his palms and resists the urge to drop his gaze to the footwell. “Nah, I’m just…chilling.”

His friends throw him puzzled looks, but everyone in the car is too drunk to care if Johnny is acting a little weird.

"I'll see you guys later," Johnny says, and his heart is about to hammer through his rib cage when Dutch finally revs his engine and the car full of ex-Cobras disappears into the night.

"Holy fuck." Johnny slumps against the seat and blows out a stuttering breath. “That was really fucking close.”

Daniel climbs out of the footwell. There’s an angry furrow between his eyebrows and his kiss-swollen lips are stained red with blood.

“Oh shit.” Johnny looks around and fishes a used napkin from the bag of take out trash that’s been sitting on the backseat all week. “Sorry about that.”

Daniel wrinkles his nose at the grease-stained napkin, but he dabs it against his bleeding lip, his eyes burning with offended indignation.

"I didn't mean to―"

"I know you didn't," Daniel huffs, but he's glaring at Johnny like he's been suckerpunched.

"Does it hurt?" Johnny asks, reaching out to inspect Daniel's bleeding lip.

Daniel slaps his fingers away. "I'm _fine_ ," he snaps. “I can’t believe you shoved me to the floor, like I was a dirty hooker or something...”

Johnny feels a jab of guilt, and there’s an apology on his tongue, but the lingering fear of being caught by his friends washes it away. He pushes his hair off his forehead with trembling fingers and beats his fist against the steering wheel.

“So you _wanted_ those guys to catch you in my car?” he barks, and even the thought makes him jolt like he’s shoved his finger into a socket. “They woulda beaten your scrawny ass if they’d seen us.”

Daniel discards the bloody napkin and crosses his arms over his skinny chest. “I think I wanna go home now.”

Something inside of Johnny deflates at Daniel’s words, but it’s pretty obvious that their fragile truce is over, and even if Daniel wanted to continue where they’d left off, Johnny would be too afraid to touch him.

He drives Daniel home and they part with a lukewarm goodbye and something unresolved hanging between them.

  
  


* * *

Daniel's back hits the edge of the table as he tries to put some space between himself and Johnny’s wet t-shirt. He’s pretty sure that Johnny's just asked him a question, but his mind is still stuck in the summer of ‘85.

The air in the kitchen sizzles with something familiar and _unresolved_ as Johnny arches his brow at Daniel, his smile amused and infuriatingly cocky. He stinks of stale cologne and whatever cheap swill he’d poured down his throat last night, but underneath it is a masculine scent that Daniel remembers from all the close encounters they had during their senior year of high school.

Daniel drags himself out of his reverie and shakes his head. “No. I mean, I’m good, thanks. I only broke the pipe.”

Johnny drags his eyes up and down the length of Daniel’s body and fixes them on his face, taking in thirty-three years of life. Daniel feels seen and almost overwhelmingly vulnerable, but it’s overridden by confusion at the sudden self-conscious tilt of Johnny’s head.

He scratches the blond scruff on his chin and blows out an annoyed snort through his nose. “I can’t believe you haven’t aged a day, LaRusso. Still got those big Bambi eyes and skinny chicken legs.”

“Hey! These chicken legs beat your ass in the All Valley Tournament,” Daniel bites back, pushing himself into Johnny’s personal space.

“With an _illegal_ kick.”

“I seem to remember you calling that kick ‘pretty badass’,” Daniel says, shooting Johnny a smug smile, and he knows Johnny remembers their conversation on the beach, because his face twists into that same unhappy frown that he’d worn after every lost point in the tournament.

Johnny clears his throat and lets his eyes wander around the room, clearly searching for a distraction. He walks to the windows and gives an impressed whistle as he takes in the pool and the garden.

“So you climbed your way all the way to Encino Hills, huh?”

Johnny’s voice drips with bitter contempt that instantly raises Daniel’s hackles. “Yeah, I did. With hard work and determination.”

It’s been more than thirty years, and they’ve already made one truce, but there’s something about Johnny Lawrence that still gets under Daniel’s skin. He’s a little surprised when Johnny doesn’t echo his anger, and it simmers down as fast as it appeared.

“What about you? Still living in the Hills?” Daniel asks, genuinely curious to know where life has taken one of the most popular guys from the class of ‘85.

“Reseda.”

“What?”

“I live in Reseda,” Johnny crosses his arms over his chest and watches Daniel with raised brows, like he’s challenging him to make some smartass comment about it.

“Oh, okay,” Daniel sputters, a little taken aback. “Nothing wrong with Reseda. I should know.”

“Damn straight,” Johnny agrees, the tilt of his chin defensive. “So I don’t have a garden full of little banzai trees, or a pool, and whatever this lame Star Trek gadget happens to be,” he says, pointing at the iPad Anthony has left on the table. He tugs on a damp curl of hair that hangs over Daniel’s nose and flashes him a crooked smirk, the old Johnny Lawrence Special. “But at least I know how to fix a broken pipe.”

Daniel huffs out a laugh and slaps Johnny’s hand away. “Yeah, yeah, rub it in, Mr. Home Improvement.”

He’s still trying to come to terms with the fact that it’s a Monday morning and the year is 2018 and Johnny Lawrence is standing in his kitchen, looking like an extra in a bad porno with his tool belt and wet t-shirt. Daniel feels himself blush when he realizes that he’d probably want to watch said porno. Just out of curiosity, of course.

“So, Johnny, uh, I see you got a little soaked fixing that sink. You wanna borrow something from my closet?” The question comes out in a heavily accented jumble and the heat on his cheeks spreads down to his neck when he sees the amused twinkle in Johnny’s eyes. “I mean, I can’t let you drive home in a shirt that’s been soaked in my kitchen sewage.”

Johnny tugs on the sleeve of his t-shirt and flexes his bicep. “Thanks for the offer, LaRusso, but I don’t think you have anything in my size.”

Daniel purses his lips and drags his gaze away from Johnny’s stupid bicep. “Come on, you’re not _that_ much bigger.” He tells Johnny to stay put as he heads upstairs, rummaging through his closet like a maniac. And yeah, most of his clothes won't fit Johnny’s frame which is built from a completely different mold than his own, but he finds an old jumbo-sized LaRusso Auto Group sponsor tee they made for some event a few years ago.

The knowledge that Johnny will definitely hate it makes Daniel grin like a little devil as he walks down the stairs. “Think this’ll be a perfect fit.”

“Oh yeah?” Johnny asks, reaching for the hem of his ruined shirt to pull it over his head.

Daniel freezes mid-step and bunches the sponsor shirt against his chest like a scandalized scullery maid. His eyes glue themselves straight to Johnny’s bare torso because where the hell else is he gonna look?

“Yeah, we got the size wrong and even my cousin Louie looked like he was wearing a circus tent.”

Daniel tosses the shirt to Johnny and feels a little less flustered when he sees the tips of Johnny’s ears go pink.

“No fucking way, LaRusso.” Johnny gapes at the shirt, his mouth hanging open like he’s trying to catch flies in it. “I’d rather walk down Reseda Boulevard in my birthday suit than go out in public with your lameass face plastered all over my chest”

“My face isn’t lame,” Daniel argues, doing his best not to laugh.

“Yeah, but I still don’t want it pressed against my pecs,” Johnny snorts.

They both fall silent at the remark and Daniel can feel the energy in the room shift like someone’s flipped an invisible switch. Johnny’s ears grow a shade pinker and Daniel shifts his weight from foot to foot, unable to keep his eyes from wandering back to Johnny’s naked torso.

He’s no longer seventeen and firm with the perfection of youth, but there’s a certain realness in the marks life has left on his body, and Daniel thinks he might prefer a Johnny Lawrence who’s a little past his prime.

“Come on, Johnny, just put it on,” Daniel coaxes.

Johnny tosses the shirt over his shoulder and takes a couple of steps towards Daniel. “I don’t know, LaRusso, I kinda get the feeling that you prefer me shirtless.”

Daniel sputters and backs away from Johnny’s advances. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Am I?” Johnny smirks, crowding Daniel against the table. “Come on, Daniel, I see the way you look at me. You’re practically salivating.”

Daniel gapes, incapable of spitting out a comeback, too busy noticing that Johnny has moved back to first name territory. And he's close enough for Daniel to feel the heat that radiates from his skin, self-assured and full of swagger even as he reeks like Reseda’s dirtiest dive, which makes Daniel’s sudden desire to kiss him fucking insane.

“Johnny, this is crazy. We haven’t seen each other in three decades.”

“That just means we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Daniel opens his mouth to protest, but Johnny is in his personal space after the first syllable, and the kiss that follows transports him straight to ‘85. It's different but familiar, because Johnny still kisses with the same old ‘strike first, strike hard’ mentality, but they’re not seventeen anymore, and Daniel knows how to kiss back with equal fervor.

He sneaks his arms between them and presses his palms against Johnny’s bare chest. The wet t-shirt has left his skin a little clammy, but the blood in Johnny’s veins runs hot. He allows Daniel to feel him up and savor the contrast of hard muscle and soft skin, and if Daniel stops to think even for a second, he knows that the whole situation and how they got here is pretty fucking absurd.

Daniel brushes his thumb over a pink scar that runs across Johnny’s ribs. “Where’d this come from?”

“A bar fight.” Johnny says airily. “A guy pulled a knife on me after I kicked his ass in 8-ball last year.” 

Daniel resists the urge to roll his eyes. His own temper and loud mouth had gotten him into trouble over the years, but at least he isn’t still brawling with random punks over a game of pool in his fifties.

He moves his hand and traces his fingers over a round spot of gnarled scar tissue on the underside of Johnny’s bicep. “Is this a cigar burn? Let me guess, another bar fight?”

Johnny rolls his shoulders and looks away. “Nah, that one was―”

Daniel’s stomach rolls with uneasy realization.

_John Kreese._

He lifts his hand to Johnny’s neck and pulls him into a kiss, pretty sure that neither of them is ready to deal with that particular ghost from their shared past.

Johnny pulls away from the kiss and bends down to grope at the back of Daniel’s thighs, like he’s trying to lift him up.

“Hey, hey what are you doing? I’m not a scrawny seventeen year old anymore. You’ll hurt your back.”

Johnny scoffs and lifts Daniel up with infuriatingly little effort, depositing him on the table.

Daniel rolls his eyes and leans in to silence Johnny with another kiss before the asshole has a chance to open his smug mouth.

He can still remember how Bruce Springsteen sang about hungry hearts on the radio in Johnny’s Avanti as he climbed into his lap in the warm dusk on graduation day. They never got to finish what they’d started that night, and he can tell that Johnny isn’t about to let anything come between them as he parts Daniel’s thighs and settles between them.

He spits into his palm and reaches for the waistband of Daniel’s track pants, arching his brow as he waits for permission. Daniel sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and nods, eagerly, his own hands already undoing the tool belt around Johnny’s hips.

It falls to the floor with a loud thud and Daniel groans into Johnny’s mouth as he feels the heat of long, calloused fingers around his cock.

“Fuck, Johnny, this is so―”

“Crazy, I know,” Johnny pants. “But it’s good, right?”

“Yeah. Real good.”

Daniel palms Johnny through the fly of his jeans, finds him hard and wanting. He struggles to wrap his brain around the fact that it’s because of _him_. Even after all these years, the guy who could have had any girl in West Valley High is still hot for Daniel’s scrawny ass and hot temper.

Johnny jerks him off with sloppy, rough strokes, doesn’t even pull Daniel’s pants down as they trade wet kisses like they’re suddenly two decades younger. There’s something about the memories of their heated rivalry and Johnny’s rugged presence that has Daniel coming embarrassingly fast. His ass lifts from the table as he rocks into Johnny’s fist and breathes out a moan that starts somewhere deep in his throat and rolls onto Johnny’s lips like an involuntary admission of something he didn't want to reveal just yet.

“Oh man...”

“Looks like I win this round,” Johnny murmurs, smirking into their kiss.

Daniel stifles his laughter and sinks his teeth into Johnny’s bottom lip in half-hearted retaliation. Johnny grunts and pulls his hand out of Daniel’s pants, wiping it on his discarded t-shirt. He cups Daniel’s head in a gentle hold, crowding between his thighs and pushing him down until Daniel is lying horizontal on the wooden surface, his legs hanging over the edge.

“Jesus Christ, Johnny, I eat breakfast at this table.”

He’s going to have to disinfect the entire surface before his kids get home from school. Or maybe it’d be better if he burned the whole thing.

Johnny opens his fly and grabs Daniel by his wrist to guide his hand to his cock. “Come on, Danielle, get me off.”

Daniel rolls his eyes at the nickname, but he wraps his fingers around Johnny’s cock, and he doesn’t need his eyes to know that it’s thick and long, but he lowers his gaze anyway. Just out of curiosity.

“I shoulda known.”

“What? That I have a huge wang?” Johnny grins.

“And the ego to match it,” Daniel groans.

The table shakes as Johnny rocks his hips between Daniel’s thighs, fucking into his fist, and Daniel wishes he could recover as fast as he did three decades ago, or hell, even in his forties, but he’s probably done for the day.

Johnny lowers his lips to Daniel’s jawline, a hint of something wistful creeping into his voice. “You ever think about me after high school?” He grunts, mouthing at the tender underside of Daniel's jaw. “Ever think about that night in my car?”

Part of Daniel doesn’t want to admit that yeah, he’s thought about Johnny Lawrence over the years. And not just about the graduation night and the things that followed their fragile truce.

He faced other opponents in his youth, some of them so aggressive that he still has nights when he wakes up covered in cold sweat as decades-old memories slither into his dreams.

But no one ever got under his skin like Johnny, in or outside of a sparring ring.

The victory against him was a high he hadn’t reached before or after his first tournament. He can still remember how it felt when the sole of his foot connected with Johnny’s face, the searing lick of pain in his injured knee and the way the soft mat bounced under Johnny’s weight as he went down.

He’s always been proud of his victory, and the anger he felt over Johnny’s dirty tricks trickled away the moment he saw how and why he’d learned them.

Daniel cups Johnny’s cheek and drags his palm down to his neck, pausing to stroke his thumb over his Adam's apple.

“Yeah, Johnny, I thought of you. Every once in a while.”

Johnny blinks at him, visibly stunned by the gentleness that’s sneaked into Daniel’s voice and touch. He buries his face into the crook of Daniel’s shoulder and lets out a sound that’s almost startled as he spills into his palm.

The next ten minutes are a little awkward as they clean up and catch their breaths. Daniel shoots Johnny a pleased smile as he pulls the sponsor shirt over his head, choosing to ignore the muttered litany of profanities.

“I’m burning this thing the moment I get home,” Johnny grumbles. “Unlike you, LaRusso, I have a reputation to protect.”

Daniel grins and pats Johnny’s shoulder. “Sure you do, John.” He fetches his wallet and gives Johnny a questioning look. “How much do I owe you? You know, for the pipe.”

Johnny waves his hand and shakes his head. “Nah, it’s my treat. But next time you have a leak, you call me _before_ you flood your house, okay?” He puts his sunglasses back on his nose and smiles at Daniel like he’s seventeen and on top of his game again. “Or you could just call me and we could grab a beer or two, maybe do some light sparring, if you still got what it takes to go against a total badass like me.”

Daniel ducks his head and watches Johnny through his lashes, the corners of his mouth curling up. “Oh, believe me, I still got it.”

  
  


*


End file.
